New Paint

New Paint

I painted those walls with her in mind. Picked out that paint with her in mind. Lavender with a touch of blue. Cool and Inviting. Calm and Soothing. I rocked in that chair, cradling a belly bursting with the dreams of a soft hand to hold and warm breath to breathe in. Rocking hope and hunger for that fresh little voice to speak. Rocking mystery and truth, death and life, under the steady current of soft air rushing back and forth across my face. I sat in that room with those lavender walls with her so quiet. Waiting.

And then,… BREATH! Real breath. New breath. Breath with crying and laughter and LIFE! I rocked her in that chair in the room with those lavender walls. Legs connecting. Arms wrapping. Breathing in breath… Breathing her back in. Hair as fresh and clean as the October sky. Skin pure and sweet. Yes, I breathed in all of her. Rocking, she grew in my arms.

And then,… MORE! Those lavender walls stretched their arms open again. Wide. They reached out. They welcomed in more life. They welcomed her in… A baby! A glorious baby. Cradled not in my womb. Not rocked from deep within. Yet, they told her she was home. They told her I was hers. They told me she was mine. And then, there, surrounded by my dream, October danced with December to the enchanting music of sisterhood.

Two small, warm bodies. Sleeping at peace. Surrounded by those walls. Sisters. Daughters. More breath. More tears. More joy. No more room for that rocking chair. Paint worn from life living and expanding.

Yes, I do breathe deeper now.

I took those two little hands in mine, those two soft dreams, and together we picked out Vienna Lace. Fair pink with a touch of gray. Playful and Alive. Earthy and Light. Hand in hand, hopes rise and spread across that lavender paint. The oldest, my fresh October, tells me she’s ready to cut her hair. Yes, it will look nice short too… The paintbrush swoops across the wall. The youngest, my December delight, breaks away and runs ahead. Fast. Not concerned with mom’s presence. Another stroke of the brush.

I painted those walls with her in mind. Now, I cover those walls with them in mind. Fair pink. Barely there pink. I cradle their dreams, knowing that they move me further away from where we began. Stroke by stroke they add a new layer to what’s already there. New color. New movement. Still breath. Still home. But, there are days I really miss that rocking chair.